What can YOU say in six sentences?
Late that evening, I found him at the kitchen table, a glass of Jim Beam poured, the dishes pushed to the side in a jumbled pile. A single burner on the stove glowed red, but no pot or pan sat on it.
"Kyle?" I asked, turning off the stove and pulling out a chair for myself, taking inventory of the knives close at hand, but not sure why.
He was deep in concentration, eyes focused on a point of great importance, a gaze I would imagine a sailor holds as he steers towards shore but has to navigate the narrows full of unseen rocks that he once memorized.
His shirt was buttoned wrong, and bending down to pick up an imaginary crumb under the table I saw that he was wearing just one shoe, a shiny black one that he used to wear when we went dancing at the officer's club the year that he made captain.
"Kyle," I said again, not sure of what came next, as if it mattered, as if the awful changes had yet to start and we were having a conversation we both could follow.
* Inspired by a moment in the British detective series 'Foyle's War.'